


Be What May

by Maygra



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-26
Updated: 2001-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maygra/pseuds/Maygra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimers: DC Comics and the WB are the real owners, I'm only participating in the demographic study. Clark/Lex, NC17.</p>
<p>        Sequel to Never Here & Here To Be: Reading them first is probably a good idea. Vague tie-ins to Catch a Falling Star and When You wish Upon A Star if you're trying to follow the sporadic logic of my thought processes. Spoilers for everything through *X-ray*, very possibly, and I'm not in AU land yet, just kind of accelerating canon with a ...hmm. Yeah.  Many, many thanks to Killa for the encouragement, Lori for the perspective, and to Bone and elynross for being endlessly patient and encouraging. Feedback welcome at Maygra@bellsouth.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be What May

Be What May  
by Maygra

The sound of glass shattering against stone was pretty satisfying. The downside, of course, was that Loren would hear it, and did, and Lex could almost set his watch by how long it took the man to reach his study doors.

When he did, there was no surprise there at all, just a certain dispassionate wariness; Loren was all too aware of his employer's moods, and Lex had been in a rare one all day. The look Loren gave him told Lex he knew it wasn't an accident that there was glass all over the hearth. Lex just watched the sparkling bits of gold and red firelight reflecting off the broken glass and spilled scotch. 

"Just leave it," Lex said.

"Very good, Mr. Luthor. Shall I bring you another set of glasses -- possibly not the good crystal?"

Lex had to smile at that. "I'll try to keep the breakage to a minimum."

Loren inclined his head, closing the study doors at Lex's request.

There was no other light but the fire; Lex had sat there while the sun faded without actually noticing the light was dimming. If he were of a more poetic mien, he might be inclined to think the light had started to dim while he watched Clark Kent retreat from his presence -- if not his life -- the set shoulders and bowed head blocking out the flush of sunlight on a Kansas plain in the middle of a bright day. 

Being cruel to Clark hadn't been his plan when he invited him over. Neither had kissing him, although it hadn't been quite so far down the list of possibilities.

It hadn't been at the top, though, either. Lex had managed to convince himself that as tempting as Clark was, (even with his all too unpracticed flirting a couple of days ago), he could actually resist the physical part of his obsession by indulging in something just as satisfying, but far less likely to get him arrested. For once in his life, companionship of a different sort might be the goal. The idea of a fresh start had haunted him from the first time he'd realized that his life meant enough to someone to save it. 

Clark did flirt, but it wasn't sophisticated, or even conscious, as far as Lex could tell. He'd managed to resist more determined attempts, which was probably the problem in a nutshell. It was hard to prepare a defense when there was no real challenge being given. 

The glass had been one of six, and Lex merely picked up another, filling the crystal halfway and letting the liquid swirl in the glass. The glow of the fire changed the color and impression of what he was drinking. He turned his back to the blaze so the scotch wouldn't look quite so much like blood and downed the entire thing in one fiery gulp. He should have started drinking a whole lot earlier. Like, say, yesterday 

Instead, he had watched Clark walk away and then waited for the car to drive him the whopping four hundred yards back to the house. He'd made damn sure the staff knew he didn't want to be disturbed by anything short of an earthquake -- which in Kansas meant he wouldn't be disturbed at all. Then he'd distracted himself by making sure the grooms and Loren had followed his instructions to collect the bits of stone and dirt washed from Clark's clothes and boots and bring them to the small lab in the basement of the house.

He'd spent two hours straining the wash water, collecting a cup full of sediment, and then filtered that until he was left with a bare half teaspoon of dull green flecks. Such a small amount.

It was more than enough to almost kill Clark, or at least leave him weak and so ill he'd barely been able to function. There were all kinds of tests he wanted to run -- some of which he'd have to do at the research facility at the plant, if not the bigger labs in Metropolis. 

It had been all he could do not to flush the damn stuff down the toilet, then order the entire quarry and lake area scraped free of any traces of the meteorite and the entire tonnage buried in a hole so deep a direct nuclear strike wouldn't unearth it. 

He'd been afraid, really afraid, a couple of times in his life. Some were only vague memories, others sharper, more recent. Taking a dive off a bridge at sixty had been pretty damn scary. Scarier still, knowing as he died that his recklessness was likely to take another life with his own. 

But it hadn't, and right now, Lex could entirely understand Jonathan Kent's barely suppressed rage and more blatant fear at the thought of nearly losing his son. 

His own anger at nearly losing Clark had surprised and scared him. Just a few days ago, the idea of losing just Clark's friendship had left him feeling vaguely disappointed, and yes, a little saddened by the missed opportunity. 

He hadn't been prepared and still wasn't able to come to terms with the idea of losing Clark entirely, permanently. It had struck him with the same force as losing his mother -- only Lionel wasn't around to remind him to be strong, to not let anyone know how deeply he was affected, to not give into the loss and grief. 

He was certain that Lionel had only been doing what he thought best -- however twisted that was -- but he had left Lex with a serious chink in the armor he'd spent a lifetime trying to get Lex to construct. 

Then for Clark to turn around and reach that moment of self-realization right when Lex was at his weakest -- if it had been anyone but Clark, Lex would have thought it a calculated move. But it was Clark, and while Lex was naturally suspicious -- and not entirely clear on what Clark was hiding, only that he was hiding something -- he really didn't think Clark capable of that kind of guile. 

Which meant that everything Clark had said was true, and every emotion, every ounce of pain Lex had seen on his face, had been real. And all on his account. 

There was a certain irony in the fact that Lex had found himself almost losing it faced with a sick and obviously ill Clark, only to turn right around and not only manage to gut punch him, but kick him when he was down. 

Maybe that was part of it. Watching Clark fall, realizing he was barely able to breathe or hold his head up, and was obviously terrified by what was happening to him, and then realizing why, had made Lex wonder if he weren't about to watch Clark die after all. He'd nearly killed him on the bridge, and then this. It was a pretty profound argument for the idea that Lex Luthor might not exactly be conducive to Clark Kent's continued existence. 

And then to have Clark turn to him like a savior. 

He gripped the edge of the table, staring at the decanters and the glasses and wondering if the earth would ever feel solid under his feet again, because it had surely moved. 

Hell, half of his current determination to drink and get drunk had been in a sincere attempt to wipe the taste of Clark's mouth from his own. It was proving to be a bigger task than he'd thought. 

Lex seriously wished he'd never met Clark. All right, so the alternative would have been to die of drowning in a sluggish Kansas river -- not his first choice. Maybe it was karma that just when Lex was starting to think that very little could bother him -- not even being banished to this sleepy little town that had yet to join the 20th century, despite its Starbucks and cyber cafes -- he'd been rudely awakened to the fact that his father was right. 

He was too emotional. He was practically drowning in it, and it was in no way preferable to drowning in the river. 

He'd gotten what he wanted -- in spades. And now that he had it, if he still did, he realized that having Clark practically begging him for exactly what Lex wanted to give him was only the beginning of what it was possible to want. 

And didn't it just beat all that Clark figured it out before Lex did?

The idea of another scotch made his stomach protest, but he poured it anyway, only barely acknowledging the fact that he wasn't actually feeling any more drunk than when he started. If he had any brains left, he'd head to bed, only the thought of lying in the dark, his mind replaying the day...and making it turn out very differently...wasn't likely to make him feel any better.

He could take Clark's advice: head to the city and find someone who would give him a reasonable facsimile of desire for the right amount of cash. 

"Mr. Luthor?" Lex almost dropped the glass, twisting around to see Loren in the doorway. His anger flashed up fast -- something Loren would know and not tempt lightly. 

"What?" he snapped, quelling the urge to give the broken glass a mate. "I didn't feel the earth move." Not really.

"No, sir, however, there is a Mr. Kent here. The elder Mr. Kent, I believe."

Lex's mind blanked for a moment. Kent. Jonathan and... Christ, what had happened to Clark? He'd seemed okay when he left -- upset, yes, but he had gone home, hadn't he? "Show him in," Lex said, setting the glass aside and feeling the earth shift beneath him again.

He willed himself calm. Clark wasn't stupid, and he had... The last time Lex had seen him, he'd been running along the path to the drive. It wasn't that far, and he had seemed fine. 

Seemed so, when not an hour before, it had been all Clark could do to stay conscious. By the time they'd washed all of the residue off of him and cleaned his clothes, the sickly green pallor had gone.

He would have gone home. He had gone home, surely. The Kents would have called earlier if he hadn't.

Loren reappeared, gesturing Jonathan Kent into the room and waiting to see if he was needed. 

"Mr. Kent..." Lex said, all too aware that no matter what Jonathan was here for, the expression he most often wore when near Lex had not changed: a kind of vague suspicion tinged with a good helping of dislike. Lex came forward anyway, not sure if he should offer his hand, but he did. At least it didn't get slapped away as Jonathan shook it briefly, but firmly. 

"Lex." Jonathan had stopped just inside the room. "I probably should have called." The blue eyes met Lex's directly -- there were no uncertain glances cast his way from Clark's father. "Clark told me what happened today," he said, and then glanced at Loren. 

"Loren...I'll call if we need anything," Lex said, and the housekeeper nodded, leaving them and closing the door behind him. 

What had Clark told his father? "How is he?" Lex asked, the most innocuous entry into this particular minefield he could think of. 

"He's all right. He says..." Jonathan Kent looked like a man who didn't know what to do with his hands, but he settled for letting them fall to his sides. "You saved his life today. I came to thank you for that."

Lex would bet his not so inconsiderable inheritance that that was all Clark had said. "I don't think I did, Mr. Kent. But you're more than welcome, anyway. So is Clark," Lex said after a moment. "He's really all right? He wouldn't let me call a doctor." Not quite the truth, but true enough.

"Shaken up, but all right. His mother is fussing over him a bit," Jonathan said with a ghost of a smile. 

Lex would never have taken Martha Kent for the fussy type, but he supposed it was possible. He smiled a little himself. "I hope he's taking it gracefully. It was a little...unnerving."

"I can imagine," Jonathan said and fidgeted a little, looking around the room. "I also came to ask...a favor."

That had cost him. Lex was careful not to let his knowledge of that fact show, but Jonathan Kent, while stubborn, was not a fool. He expected Lex to want something for this...favor. It was almost insulting -- definitely aggravating. 

And it was also about Clark -- of that, Lex had no doubt. "Whatever I can do, Mr. Kent. And whether you want to believe it, or not, there isn't much I wouldn't do for...your family."

Jonathan bit his lip, obviously trying to make sure his words were chosen carefully. His son did the same thing, although usually Clark was trying to make sure he didn't say anything stupid. Lex had a suspicion Jonathan was trying very hard to be civil -- debt or no debt. 

"I'm asking you, for Clark's sake, not to say anything about how the meteorite affects him."

Lex was caught a little off guard, but not much. He'd hardly thought it likely that Jonathan Kent would suddenly decide to take him up on his business offer of a week before, and this wasn't quite along the lines of "please don't get any more involved in my son's life than you already are," which was closer to what Lex had been expecting. 

If Clark had said anything about Lex making the connection between the meteorite, Lana's necklace, and Clark's reaction today, he had a feeling that this would be a different conversation. "I don't think that would be too difficult a thing to do, but..." Lex couldn't help himself. He had a sample in the basement and every intention of discovering what the mineral's properties were and why they had affected Clark so profoundly -- even if he never saw the younger Kent again. Surely it would have been one of Jonathan's priorities, too.. "You have to know that he's lucky to have had so limited an exposure so far. You should have him tested or the...meteorite."

"They did test it...when it fell. Government agencies out here for months, private labs," Jonathan said tightly. "No radiation, no effect on plant life -- no indication that it affects people..." he said, but his tone was uncertain. 

"It does affect Clark, though," Lex said, and eased down to sit on the arm of the sofa. "You don't want him--"

"To become the brunt of some pseudo-scientific investigation like every other crackpot who's reported the weirdness around here for the last ten years," Jonathan said. "EPA, UFO hunters, FDA, SETI...the Army...who haven't found a damn thing and aren't likely to, if they haven't by now. If they're even looking in the right place -- which you and I both know they probably aren't."

Lex didn't move, but he was all ears, every nerve alert and his mind working overtime. There was more to this than Clark's sickness today. "Pretend I don't know what you are talking about, Mr. Kent," he said cautiously, eyes narrowing. 

"Clark said...the quarry, the lake...your father used those areas to test new chemical fertilizers." His tone of voice left nothing to the imagination about what Jonathan Kent thought of Luthor Corp's core biochemical industry. "He said it was..." Jonathan hesitated, voice easing back from the carefully checked anger. "Beautiful. What he remembers of it. That's what he sees, Lex. I don't want him taken...apart by doctors and... We know what it is. He can avoid it."

Lex would give anything to have been a fly on the wall in the Kent house when Clark got home. "But you don't know what it is...what causes it."

Wrong thing to say. Jonathan was getting his back up, and Lex held out his hands placatingly. "I won't say anything, Mr. Kent. I could have saved you a trip if Clark had asked."

"It wouldn't have," Jonathan said shortly. "Because I did come to thank you." He took a breath. "Which I'm doing badly. Lex...I am grateful. So is Martha. And Clark. I have to tell you..." he started, and there was a wry smile on his lips, real, if strained, humor in his eyes. "You've made an impression on him. I don't think I need to be any clearer that I'm not exactly sure it's a good thing. You aren't your father, and I get that -- Clark reminds me of it every chance he gets -- but this has more to do with your company than you personally."

"So I keep hearing," Lex said dryly. "I'm having a problem believing it. Which I suppose gives us something in common."

"Oh?"

Lex nodded. "You want me to believe that you don't hold a grudge against me because of my father, and I want you to believe that I wouldn't ever do anything to hurt you or your family. I'd say we both lack a little faith, Mr. Kent."

Jonathan regarded him with a raised eyebrow and a skeptical expression for a long moment before nodding. "Maybe we do, Lex." He took another breath and put his hands in the pockets of his blazer. "Anyway. That's what I came to say. And to ask. I'll try to remember the rest."

Lex had no doubt he would. He believed Jonathan the same way he believed Clark. For all of Jonathan's suspicion and dislike, at least he was up front about it. Lex didn't really have to wonder where he stood with father or son. Which, he supposed, was preferable to the people he dealt with that treated him like visiting family to his face and reached for his wallet or a knife the minute his back was turned. 

"Mr. Kent...I can, without involving authorities in any way, run some tests on the ore residue from the meteorite," he said, surprised at himself that he was offering out front to do what he had already planned to do with no one the wiser. "I have both the training and the means. I can't promise I'll find anything more than anyone else has. I'd like to try, though. Maybe there is something...a neutralizer -- a natural neutralizer Clark could take or use."

"Are you asking my permission, Lex?" Jonathan asked, shrewd gaze resting on Lex's face.

Was he? "Not really," he admitted, smiling a little and getting to his feet. "Let's just call it a show of good faith. I'll let you know if I find out anything that can help."

Jonathan didn't look convinced, but he nodded. "I'll take you at your word," he said, and it was a pretty sizable leap of faith from Jonathan, as well. "I should get back. Thanks for taking care of him, Lex."

"It wasn't... He'd have done the same, Mr. Kent," Lex said, and walked with Jonathan to the study door, opening it for him. "I'm glad I could do something."

Jonathan stopped before he reached the doors, gaze caught by the flicker of light on the broken glass on the floor. He stared at it, then at Lex, chewing on the inside of his lip before he spoke. "It scared you," he said, and Lex held his breath waiting for more, glancing at the glass shards. "It scared him, too, Lex."

"I know," Lex said, letting the air ease from his lungs. 

"You know...fear and anger are pretty close together," Jonathan said, looking toward the open door. "Clark said..." Jonathan changed his mind, not saying what he had meant to. "He values your friendship, Lex."

"I value his, as well," Lex said, fighting not to clench his teeth, not because it wasn't the truth, but because it was still a raw spot. "I...I'll come by and see him tomorrow. Would you tell him that?"

Jonathan gave him another searching look before nodding "I will. Goodnight, Lex." He headed toward the front of the house. 

Lex turned back, studying the flames, replaying the whole conversation in his head for long minutes. Surreal. 

No sign of an outraged papa gunning for the man who had soiled his son's innocence. He wasn't actually sure Jonathan would, even if he knew. At most, he might just have told Lex to stay away and reminded him of laws Lex was already too aware of.

He'd promised to go see Clark. "Shit," he cursed softly, wondering what demon of drink or perversity had brought those words to his lips. How was it that Clark Kent could manage to get Lex Luthor to do what he wanted without even trying? Now there was some research worth pursuing.

He could play it cool, though. Concern for a friend. Right. 

Uh huh, right up until Clark gave him one understanding gaze from hazel eyes and no doubt a smile that would indicate he was happy to see him and mean both things without reservation. 

But he would do it. He wasn't sure how easily or quickly he could convince Clark that being friends was better than being nothing at all to each other. He was fifteen, sixteen years old. Hardly likely to find the love of his life quite yet. He'd get over it, and maybe it would be some other guy somewhere down the line that got to fully realize the sweetness of the man Clark was becoming. Or some girl. Maybe it would be Lana. 

In some universe, maybe it could even have been him. 

He'd meant what he'd told Jonathan. He didn't want to do anything to hurt the Kents -- but he'd already managed to do just that. 

He was going to make himself insane trying to work his brain around this desire for Clark and the increasing need to prove to Clark, if not himself, that he really wasn't his father. Or anything like him. 

Except he was. 

"Will you need anything else, Mr. Luthor?" 

Loren again, and Lex shook his head. "No. I'm headed up," he said, even though it was barely nine o'clock. "Lock up, would you, Loren?"

The housekeeper nodded, and Lex had no doubt the glass would be cleared before he got up in the morning.

There was fresh water in the pitcher by his bed, towels warming in case he wanted a shower, but other than letting toothpaste clear the taste of scotch from his mouth and a quick wash of face and hands, Lex wanted nothing more than an end to what had been a truly miserable day.

His bed was already warmed, the underlying electric blanket taking the chill off the sheets. He stripped off his jeans and shirt and draped them over the valet, glad that he didn't indulge in an actual manservant - his own company was almost more than he could stand. He hit the lights and groaned as his body relaxed into the mattress. He might have been wise to soak in the Jacuzzi for a bit. He hadn't even realized how stiff he was from tension and the effort of hauling Clark onto the rocks, then up on his horse. 

Not to mention having to fight off several acute arousals during the course of the day. He seemed to have inadvertently set his brain to a continuous replay of every image of Clark he'd managed to catalog in his brain.

Lying in the darkness between warm sheets wasn't exactly conducive to banishing those images, either -- which he'd known. After tossing for a good twenty minutes, he finally lay back, staring at the shifting patterns of moonlight-shadowed leaves on the ceiling, letting the images play in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he'd get bored. 

The boy was walking sin. Oh, the innocence was there, too, both appealing and troubling. Appealing in the lack of artifice or elegance. Clark's first kiss hadn't been particularly skilled, and Lex was pretty sure he had been the recipient of the first passionate kiss Clark had given to anyone. Somehow he didn't think the inevitable, curious kisses of eight-year-old children counted amid the actual rankings of things to do with mouths other than speaking and eating. 

His lack of skill hadn't even remotely counted against the ability to be pleasurable, though. Enthusiasm and a hint of desperation made up for a lot. And once Lex had managed to get his own brain cells in line and show Clark how it could be done...

Just the thought of it had him moistening his lips. His father would be appalled at his lack of restraint, and Lex almost let that thought bring laughter to his lips. His father was pretty much appalled by everything Lex did, as near as he could tell -- at least it felt that way. In reality, he knew it wasn't true. Luthor, Sr. hadn't hesitated to hand over additional responsibilities to Lex -- although he'd also made sure that his impact would be as inconsequential as possible. 

On the board of directors with no real voting rights. Chief Operating Officer of a plant so small it could rightly be called an experiment rather than a true part of the Luthor empire. But it had a decently supplied lab, his father encouraging him to continue his studies even while he was on hiatus from his education. 

And my, this line of thought was certainly the cure for thoughts of Clark. Imagine that?

He flung the blankets back. Sleep wasn't likely to be granted to him soon, and there were things he could do to occupy his mind -- like begin the testing on the ore residue from Clark's clothes. Finish the financial reports due on Wednesday. Take the Porsche for a spin at ninety toward Metropolis and see what was happening at his favorite clubs. 

What if he had taken Clark up on his offer?

He'd avoided that thought. He'd managed to wrestle the arguments in his head into a reasonable bulwark of "This is a bad idea," without actually letting himself get past that point to the "Yeah, but..." part of it. 

It had been an offer. And a pretty well thought out one -- for the actual amount of time Clark had been thinking it. It would seem that once he'd set a course, the boy was pretty quick to reach a conclusion.

It hadn't been a "boy" that reacted so strongly to Lex, though. Nor was any boy likely to be capable of the kind of restraint Clark had shown. It had been partly hormone driven, Lex was certain, partly in response to a very real scare. Jonathan Kent hadn't misread his son's reaction to the morning's little adventure. 

It had taken Lex ten minutes to get his body to calm down enough to be able to walk to the car. Clark had been off and running in under three, and Lex hadn't mistaken Clark's response to that last, bittersweet kiss. 

And if Lex had...somehow...managed to keep him from leaving? Brought him to the house instead? Told Loren to dust the books in the library and brought Clark here, to his room, to his bed...

He'd offered to show Clark the world, and then denied him in the face of the one thing Clark wanted. Knowing Clark, he was probably already rationalizing that Lex had done so out of some noble instinct, maybe even some insight into Lex's not terribly subtle self-interest. No matter how it ended up, he was certain that not one word of anything that might have followed would ever have made it to anyone -- not to Clark's parents or his friends. Certainly no cry of innocence lost or attempts to hold it all over Lex's head like some kind of National Inquisitor blackmail scheme. 

He didn't need the blankets. He was plenty warm enough. He tossed them off and gave in to the impulse to stroke his stomach, imagining Clark's hands, his mouth pressing over Lex's skin as warmly and sweetly as he had taken Lex's mouth. Would Clark dream the same thing? The same kind of thing? 

Lex had the advantage. He'd seen Clark fully naked, even while trying to remind himself that he was ogling an adolescent, he'd still known it was a man's body he was looking at. Young and untouched, but still a man, and Clark, who seemed so awkward and unsure just crossing a street, had shown none of the same kind of awkwardness in letting Lex see him. He had flaunted nothing deliberately, just been easy, maybe still a bit in shock from his close encounter of the weird kind, but neither shy nor concerned. 

All lean, muscular tanned lines and apologies. Wet skin and wet hair, and less the shaking, scared Clark that Lex had ridden beside returning from the quarry. He was grateful and beautiful and looked at Lex as if he were the one person who stood between Clark and his own fears. 

"I'm trying, Clark." Lex murmured to no one, stilling his hands and rolling over to pull the blankets back up. It was a pretty sobering thought to realize that Clark probably had more to fear from Lex than anyone. 

That cheerful thought accompanied him into a sleep mercifully free of the instant replay of the hurt and confusion in Clark's eyes. 

~~~

Clichés didn't work very well for Lex Luthor. The morning didn't make things look any better, and he had both the hangover and the headache from the night before without ever actually having experienced the pleasure of being drunk.

He let that be the excuse for remaining in bed later than usual, refusing anything but coffee and toast for breakfast and being generally disagreeable to the staff until they left him alone. 

Which left him with nothing to do and no one to vent his moods on, and in the end, he decided avoiding his obligations wasn't gaining him anything. By ten he was showered, dressed, and had managed to convince himself that the problem was being alone with his thoughts. Getting out, if only for few hours, would vastly improve his mood. 

Or not. His first inclination was to head into Smallville proper, to check and make sure the expression on his face wasn't actually likely to scare small children or dogs -- just a litmus test of how well he had managed to regain some control. But even as he reached the end of the drive he already knew he would be going in the opposite direction. If the fates were kind he might be able to get away with leaving a note and returning Clark's jacket. 

At first, as he pulled up the lane to the Kent farm, he thought maybe that was the case. The blue GMC truck wasn't in the drive, and the house looked quiet. He stopped the car and was reaching in the glove box for a sheet of paper to leave a note when he caught sight of movement near the barn. Pulling off his sunglasses, he looked again and saw a hay bale emerge unassisted through the open doors to land by an untidy pile of bales. A few moments later it was followed by another. 

Someone was home. Either that, or there were stranger things in Smallville than meteorite-sensitive farm boys. He could still leave a note. It was entirely possible it was Jonathan. 

Lex thrummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a few minutes before coming to a decision- and even then he wasn't entirely happy with it. Reaching for the freshly cleaned windbreaker on the seat beside him, he got out of the car. 

He tried to angle his path and time his appearance so as not to get inadvertently flattened by one of the bales, ducking his head around the open door to spot the resident hurler. 

Clark. Somehow he'd known it would be. Standing on the back of an unhitched trailer, offloading the bales with the rhythmic steadiness of someone who'd done this particular task for a few years. Pale straw floated in the air, dust motes dancing along the weak shafts of sunlight penetrating the barn. Clark's clothes were covered in straw dust and fragments, jeans to grey T-shirt, the latter stained dark at neck and armpits, hands gloved and arms bare, although Lex could see the inevitable flannel hanging over the high side of the trailer. Clark spotted him just as he hauled another bale off the stack near the back of the trailer. 

Lex wasn't quite sure what to make of Clark's expression. No huge welcoming grin -- but that would be a little too much to expect. It didn't take long for the color to climb into Clark's face, and he stared at Lex for a long time before dropping his gaze and the bale of hay. He stripped off his gloves before jumping down off the back of the trailer. "Lex..." he said, and stopped a few feet away, running a hand through tangled and sweaty hair. "Dad said you'd be by."

"I came to see if you were okay," Lex said, and wished he could manage to push a smile to his own face. Concern would be better, though -- polite concern. 

"I'm fine," Clark said, meeting Lex's gaze and digging his hands into his pockets. "Thanks. My folks are at church."

"Not the church-going kind, Clark?" Lex asked, trying for the smile now and realizing it wasn't going to work. Clark didn't answer, didn't drop his gaze, didn't do anything, and it was Lex's turn to fidget -- inwardly, anyway.

If Clark thought he was going to get an apology, he was using the wrong brain cells. "I'm glad you're doing okay," Lex said, and held out the jacket. "You left this. It should be safe."

Lex didn't move, perversity making him want Clark to come to *him*, and he wasn't disappointed. Clark took the three steps needed to close the distance, and closed his fingers around the fabric just as Lex released it. 

Of course, with Clark this close, Lex did have to look up. He hadn't imagined it. Oh, Clark's expression wasn't one of pure misery -- there was no pining going on -- but there was confusion and wariness -- and determination. "Nothing's changed, Lex," Clark said quietly. No desperation, no challenge, no gauntlet thrown. 

Lex found himself stiffening in tension, ready to remind Clark, that oh, indeed, several things had changed. Lex had to wonder if any kind of friendship -- any kind of relationship at all with Clark -- was worth drawing this out. He could continue to be distant and cool, even casually cruel. That would be his usual response to what he considered unreasonable demands. 

He wasn't so certain that he wasn't trying to fool himself, as well as everyone in this town. Invest in this burg, turn over a new leaf, assist with goodwill, and still turn a profit. Defy his father, prove that it could be done. He didn't know any longer. 

It would be easier if Clark would look at him with wounded pride or embarrassment, if he could be flip or even hurt, toss accusations of false friendship -- that might be impetus enough to push Lex to the same low fearful burn of anger he'd summoned yesterday. 

"Yes, it has," Lex said evenly, then closed his eyes briefly, sincerely praying for the kind of patience that Clark seemed to possess naturally. 

Clark shook his head, then leaned over and pulled one of the bales closer, spreading his jacket over it. "I need to finish this. You can help," he glanced down at Lex's well-creased slacks and spotless shirt, "or you can watch."

"Or I could leave."

"Yeah, you could. But you came over for something other than to give me my jacket back. Or check on me. Do you even know what it is, Lex?" Clark asked him, and then turned away, climbing back into the trailer to finish unloading it. 

Ye gods -- armchair psychology from a sixteen year old. Lex refused to be baited, but salvaging something from this was at least worth the effort. "Now this is what I call an exciting Sunday morning," Lex said, moving to stand by the coat-covered bale. 

Clark glanced back at him, and for the first time, Lex saw a hint of a smile. "Not quite a thrill a minute." Gloves on, Clark heaved one of the bales up, bracing his foot on the raised tailgate, and got a swing going on the bale until he could toss it amid the others. 

"Clark, you don't really expect me to stay here and watch you practice for the farmhand Olympics, do you?"

A second bale followed, and Clark paused. "No...I'm totally stalling you here," he said, and reached for a third. "You're gonna make up your own mind, Lex. I'm just letting you know mine hasn't changed."

Lex blew out an exasperated breath with a soft curse, taking the dozen strides to reach the back of the trailer, gripped the mesh side, and pulled himself up. There were only a dozen or so bales left. "And changing my mind would entail exactly what, Clark?"

Clark didn't stop, and Lex had to lean back against the side to keep clear. "I don't know," he said, never breaking stride. Two more bales and he did pause, digging his fingers into the straw and leaning against the remaining bales. He wasn't breathing hard, but Lex watched him blink rapidly and then look up, glaring at Lex.

Oh. So Clark Kent could get mad. 

"Somehow, Lex...being *just* friends with you seems like a real reach. But if you want that...then I have to ask you...what's in it for you?"

He also had a pretty mean right cross. 

When Lex didn't immediately answer, Clark only sighed and went back to unloading. "Give me an answer to that, and I'll let it go. And saving your life doesn't count. We're even," he said. 

Were they? Lex didn't have an answer, and it wasn't as if he had just considered the question for the first time. Okay. Whether he bought it or not -- if he didn't owe Clark, if this sudden urge toward altruism with a bent toward community improvement and profit weren't just a product of his "new" life, then what did he want?

Clark was down to the last two bales before Lex managed to come up with at least part of it -- and that part of the answer was what kept him here, watching an angry Clark work up a sweat while waiting for an answer he could live with. 

"You make me question things," he said finally as Clark reached for the last bale. It was tossed as easily as all those before, and Clark stopped, hands on his knees as he leaned over slightly to catch his breath. It was as honest an answer as Lex could come up with, and it was no easier to admit that there was more below the surface. "My life was worth something...to a total stranger."

Clark looked at him, brows drawing together as he thought through that. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Lex gave a dry chuckle and shook his head, pointing at Clark. "That would be one of those questions. What's in it for me...?"

"You saved me."

"You're a friend. Even I wouldn't leave someone in the middle of...that."

"I don't think it's me making you question things, Lex." Clark took a breath and stood upright. "But okay." He jumped down, heading into the barn. Dumbfounded, Lex followed him.

Just like that, Lex thought, vaguely disgruntled by Clark's reaction, if not his comment. When Clark took stairs leading to the loft above, Lex followed him there, too. He was beginning to think he was spending too much time in the Kent barn, and it never really seemed to turn out to his advantage. 

Clark had only come up to change shirts, stripping off the sweaty grey one and exchanging it for a plain white one. 

Lex hesitated, fingering Clark's telescope, looking in. He was a little surprised to see it pointed toward his own estate. From here, all he could make out was the top of the house. He looked over at Clark to find him watching, face a little red. 

"I couldn't sleep last night."

"Neither could I," Lex said. "Or not very well." He swung the telescope a little, randomly back and forth, very gently. "All other considerations aside, Clark, there's a lot to be said for friendship that is...uncomplicated by other things."

He'd handled yesterday badly. He hadn't realized how badly until now. He'd hurt Clark by his rejection -- it didn't take a genius IQ to see that -- but he'd been caught off guard. His father would have expected better of him. Keep a cool head and never let them catch you unprepared. Clark expected better of him, too.

Lex expected better of himself, from both the pre-drowning and resurrection and the new and improved versions of himself. That thought was a little gut tightening. He hated to fail. 

"What are you scared of, Clark?" he asked, the question coming out of nowhere, but Lex was asking himself the same thing. 

Clark settled himself on the cot, moistening his lips before answering. "Hurting someone...by accident," he said quietly, glancing at Lex, and then away. "Dying without..." he spread his hands. 

Lex gave him a small wry smile. "Uh, yeah. I think I know that one. You know...the problem here is, we both want the same thing for different reasons."

Clark shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Yeah, we do," Lex said, and came to crouch before Clark as he had the day before. "Cutting through all the rest of it, Clark, I want you..." He took a breath of his own and summoned up every honest feeling he could.

What did he get out of it? Maybe a soul, if he walked the right path. 

Clark's expression at his admission was enough to both take his breath away and send icy shards of reality straight to his brain. 

So much better, so much easier to deny what was between them...and so impossible standing here with Clark staring at him like he wanted him, too.

Should he do right and try to make true his real, if unsteady, ambition to be a different man than his father?

Or was it just as wrong to deny the inextricable link he already felt to Clark, and the very real potential Clark had for life-changing influence on him? 

They would change each other, of that he had no doubt. The big question remained, though: How? For better? Or for worse? 

"I want you," Lex repeated, just to see Clark's stunned expression again, "but the very reason I want you is likely to destroy what I want."

Clark rolled his eyes. "You aren't going to destroy me, Lex."

"Not that way. I'm not talking about your virtue or your virginity, Kent," Lex said, smiling when the familiar blush appeared. "And I seriously doubt you are going to die with either intact. Not if you don't want to."

"It isn't that," Clark said, almost harshly, Lex watching him struggle for it. "You know...most guys don't talk about this stuff. They just do it."

"You aren't most guys, Clark," Lex said, and was a little surprised at the startled look on Clark's face -- and the suspicion. That made him stop. Suspicious of what? "Neither am I, although in my case, as they say, been there, done that."

Clark shook his head and pushed himself to his feet, going to the opening of the loft and staring out. "If it's not you, it's going to be someone, Lex. It isn't just curiosity or...fear, or," he turned to look at Lex, something bright and hot flashing in his eyes, "gratitude. So you tell me what the criteria is. Someone my own age who doesn't know any more than I do...or just someone with fewer objections than you?"

Lex's eyes narrowed. Not so much in anger, but because he hadn't quite thought of it like that. He was bad for Clark. He thought so, anyway -- or if not bad, then not the best Clark could have, should have. 

And not the worst. Not by far, which Lex might actually know better than most, because he could be careful. Would be careful. 

With Clark. 

He looked at Clark again, at the banked heat in his eyes. No, not everyone would know to be careful with Clark.

Getting to his feet Lex closed the distance between them, glad to see Clark was still a little angry. "You know, if you break my heart, I'll never forgive you," he said with a perfectly straight face. 

Clark stared at him for moment, then his expression changed, easing away from frustration into a kind of mild bewilderment. "You're not supposed to have one...isn't that what you were trying to tell me yesterday?"

"Something like that," Lex said. He couldn't deny that it was pretty exhilarating to step up to the edge of a cliff like this. 

"You're making me nuts, you know that, right?" Clark said taking the half step in. "I never know what to expect with you."

"Welcome to my world, Clark," Lex said, a smile twitching the corner of his lips. "This is very likely the most profoundly stupid thing I've ever done in my life -- and that's saying something."

"Thought you were a genius," Clark said, and reached out just that much to touch the outside of Lex's hand.

Lex caught his wrist. Last shot at sanity. His hand fit around Clark's wrist, and it was no delicate configuration of bones and muscle and flesh that he'd captured. Clark's hands were large, strong, the muscles under that shirt spoke of several years, even in adolescence, of repetitious physical labor, a growing body easily adapting to it, turning effort into muscle. He could feel the tension rise in Clark's body, the small, quick intake of breath. Looking up, he could see the anticipation rise in the hazel eyes, Clark not nearly as certain about this as he wanted Lex to believe. Determined, yes... Oh, yeah. Clark wouldn't back down -- not even on second thought. Stubborn and resolute and...not afraid. Not of Lex. 

He was in serious trouble. Clark wasn't trying to pull away, which Lex was fairly certain he could do, and there was no mistaking that sudden flush to lips and cheeks for simple embarrassment. He'd have groaned out loud if he dared, only he didn't, and there was the challenge he didn't dare fail -- to lose control before Clark did. 

Or before his parents got home. Sobering thought, but not enough, and maybe he could still get Clark to yet save them from themselves. 

His thumb slid upward from Clark's wrist to his palm, his eyes never breaking contact, and the groan rattling around somewhere south of his vocal cords came out in a slow easy smile. It got a little more smug when Clark lifted his chin fractionally, moistening his lips as Lex uncurled the half-closed fist until Clark's fingers were extended. Long, graceful fingers, barely callused despite his labors, and right in front of Lex's mouth. 

Sweat and leather and salt on his tongue as he took the forefinger between his lips. A lick and suck, as delicate as the first foray he'd made into Clark's mouth the day before, and close to being as heady as that kiss. Lex didn't look away, didn't miss the widening of Clark's eyes or how his breathing grew shallower as his brain made the connection between why Lex was sucking on his finger and where else such skill might be applied. 

No salvation on this Sunday, and the groan that sounded wasn't from Lex's lips. Clark trembled and his legs locked, and Lex was pretty certain he could have Clark on his knees in a heartbeat with just the right kind of pressure.

Nothing like getting a dose of his own poison. The thought of Clark on his knees, and that mouth, so open in surprise and invitation, covering his own flesh, was enough to drive Lex from teasing to rock hard in the space of a heartbeat. He pushed a little, and Clark stumbled back, Lex remaining close, pressing until Clark's back hit the wall beside the wide opening of the loft -- enough to be obscured by the edge of the barn and still let Lex see if anyone was coming. 

Ow. Bad choice of images, but he wasn't that far gone. Somehow he didn't think the truce he and Jonathan had come to would actually survive this kind of assault on the Kents' sense of propriety. But at least they'd still be even -- Lex was pretty damn sure he wasn't going to survive the assault on his senses by the sight of a fully aroused and panting Clark who had apparently reached his limit of sensory input as well. 

The finger in his mouth was replaced by the thrust of Clark's tongue as Lex pressed up and in, capturing Clark's latest gasp for breath and almost smiling against that very soft and sweet mouth. The height thing was a minor annoyance, but Lex compensated, aided by the fact that Clark started to slide down the wall until he realized his hands could be used to steady himself on Lex's shoulders, and that if he bent his head just that much, desire would do the rest of the physical adjustments. 

Clark pulled back with another sharp intake of breath when Lex reached for his belt and the fastening of his jeans. He let out a strangled, mangled version of Lex's name when Lex pressed his erection against Clark's thigh and hip, and shifted his hands to Lex's hips, either using him for leverage or pulling him closer. Didn't matter. He was *there*.

Denim shifted and gaped, well-worn cotton briefs barely containing the evidence that Clark was no closer to control than Lex was. 

It wasn't even any kind of conscious test that had Lex unfastening his own trousers with one hand. The other pressed against Clark's shoulder to hold him still -- or maybe just to keep himself from falling and dragging Clark with him to the dusty floor and fucking him senseless -- as if Clark wasn't already pretty close to that point already. 

Lex didn't want to lose this opportunity to Clark's excitement or his inexperience and dropped fast enough to jar his knees and spine. He didn't drop his gaze until he heard Clark's softly moaned: "Oh, God..." and then he was untangling cotton and flesh to expose the fully-flushed cock and a glimpse of dark, thickly curled hairs. Clark thrust at the first touch of his hand, knees almost buckling at the rub of Lex's thumb across the head of his cock, slick and wet and yeah, this would be over very soon.

Clark didn't reach for him, didn't try to grab Lex's head or his shoulders, fingers scrabbling instead for purchase on the rough wall of the barn, on the knocked together bookcase beside him. He slid a little, then stopped, legs spread as far as the slipping denim would let him, shirt riding up as it caught on the uneven boards, and that was all Lex could see before taking the hot length of him into his mouth. Slowly, by feel and instinct, and well aware that Clark might lose it at any moment, Lex took him all the way in, hearing Clark moan again as he twisted to bring more of Lex's mouth into contact with his flesh. He could feel Clark shaking under his hands, his own cock throbbing and more than ready to participate. 

Lex stroked and licked, gently and teasingly, pulling back only long enough to catch a glimpse of Clark's face, his eyes wide and dark, stunned and struck dumb by sensations Lex knew were in no way comparable to the feel of your own hand. Clark jerked, his rumbling "Lex" all the warning Lex needed before enveloping the straining flesh once more, sucking softly and letting his tongue ride over veins and ridges until he felt the first bitter shot of release slide over his palate. 

Mouth and one hand teasing Clark mercilessly, Lex groaned against the fullness in his mouth as he touched himself, squeezed and matched the rhythm he was setting to Clark's flesh to his own need. He stroked himself harder as Clark thrust and bucked, the amount of physical restraint Clark managed pretty impressive -- along with the rest of him. Taste and texture smooth as silk, and Lex could only wish he had Clark flat on his back and naked while he was doing this just so he could watch that long body twist and twitch with no fear of falling. 

He'd get his chance. He felt the roll of heat and sensation stretch his spine, his hand sticky and wet from his own coming even as he swallowed around Clark's cock, tasting that wash of release like he might taste a fine wine, and pulling away only at the very last because he had to suck in a deeper breath, and he didn't want to miss all of Clark's display of passion.

Or maybe he just didn't want to miss the loss of innocence. 

He didn't, and Lex held his breath, one hand still cupping his cock, and the other wrapped around the upper part of Clark's thigh, Clark's body finishing by itself what Lex had started, and he'd been right all along. 

Most men caught in the throes of orgasm were at best silly looking creatures, but it didn't surprise Lex that Clark, caught in the moment of final release, looked anything but silly. He was wildly beautiful, body taut as he held himself up with a strength Lex wasn't sure he could have matched. The muscles of his stomach clenched and relaxed, Clark panting as the last of his semen escaped to stain the wood beneath their bodies, his throat working to contain a groan that refused to be silent. 

Lex felt a shudder of reaction wash through him the moment Clark turned his head a little, heavy-lidded eyes seeking Lex's for a long moment before he smiled -- in something closer to sweet gratitude than pleasure. Then he was sliding down, ignoring the slide of wood across his back that made Lex worry about splinters until he realized that Clark had the hand Lex had left on his thigh and was pulling him forward, or pulling himself to Lex. Where Lex's hand still rested on his own cock, Clark's covered it and squeezed, gently, and it was Lex's turn to groan and wonder exactly who was in more trouble here. 

Definitely him. The mouth seeking his was not as demanding, and Lex wondered if this was something Clark thought was expected, or actually desired. Parting kisses after sex weren't unheard of, but this was more like a 'hello, haven't seen you in a while' kind of kiss. Releasing Lex's mouth, Clark leaned back with his head against the wall, still breathing shallowly, if not as quickly. He shifted, allowing Lex to do so as well, and Lex found himself resting on one hip, back braced against Clark's upraised knee and side to the still heaving chest with a natural resting place for his hand across Clark's bare belly and hip. 

Clark's skin was smooth, warm, and damp, and he didn't seem particularly ticklish as he rolled his hips slightly to ask for more of that light caress without actually saying anything. Lex was pleased at his response and making slightly faster strides toward his own recovery when he looked up, catching something on Clark's face he hadn't expected. 

No innocence lost, after all, and Lex was surprised by that. Clark's eyes were closed, his head tilted slightly away, lashes a dark smudge along tanned cheeks, mouth relaxed and still wet looking. Debauched innocence, maybe, but it was still there. Clark didn't look profoundly changed, only a little sleepy and disinclined to make much of either the loss of his virginity, or the fact that he was half-naked with another partially naked man resting against him. 

Somehow, Lex didn't think Clark's parents would have so benign an impression if they found them like this. "Clark," he said, finally breaking the silence and almost wishing he didn't have to be the one still trying for some sense of responsibility in all this. He was pretty happy with the idea of actually getting Clark to move and seeing if the myth of youth and stamina and recovery could be proven with a few well thought out and executed experiments. 

When Clark's eyes finally focused and settled on Lex's face, the desire was all the stronger. Sated passion was a good look on Clark. "We really need to try this on a bed," Lex said finally, and he saw Clark's lip twitch before he grinned, not a trace of doubt or guilt in the dark eyes. 

"And naked," Clark said, and there was a wickedly gleeful kind of shock to his expression that Lex really wanted to see translated into enthusiasm. 

"Does make it easier on the dry cleaning bills," Lex said, unable to stop his own smile. The cynical part of him was a little taken aback by the sudden distinctions he was able to make between sex and pleasure -- always heretofore kind of irrevocably intertwined. For the first time in a long time, Lex wondered how it would feel to wake up and see a familiar face in the bed beside him -- as unlikely as that possibility was. 

There was romance in his soul yet, and he had to laugh at himself, if not the whole situation. Oh, how the mighty and worldly-wise had fallen. 

"What?" Clark asked, not put off by the chuckle, and not easily releasing Lex as he pushed up, and Lex gave into the urge to stroke the tangled curls off Clark's forehead. 

"Just thinking that us naked is probably not what we want your parents to see. Not anytime soon, anyway. Possibly ever." Clark turned red, but didn't turn away or lose his smile. After a moment he only sighed. 

"Probably not. Definitely not," he agreed, and found the strength or resolve somewhere to roll to his side and get to his feet even as Lex did. Except for a few scuffed places in the dust and some wet spots, there wasn't much evidence of their efforts on the floor. Lex's handkerchief sufficed for his hands and cock, and Clark had less to worry about, pulling the snug jeans up and managing to get a shudder of pleasure out of even that much, grinning at Lex over the shared joke, and then kissing him suddenly and more shyly than he had before. "Work sink below if you need it," he said, and led the way, the first hint of awkwardness emerging, but it wasn't embarrassment, just a lack of familiarity with the post-sex rituals -- or so Lex surmised. 

He dusted off the knees of his pants, deciding that going into Smallville was probably not on the agenda after all, and followed Clark down stairs again. 

Washing his hands and rinsing his mouth was all Lex bothered to do, Clark providing a relatively clean towel, and a few more brushes left Lex's slacks no more disreputable looking than if he'd been hanging around in the barn for the better part of an hour. 

"Are you going to be okay with your folks?" he asked as he recovered his gloves and sunglasses, Clark walking him to his car. "I mean, they can read you like a book, right?" Most people could. If there was one huge stumbling block to all of this, it was the same lack of guile in Clark that Lex found so appealing, but he asked, and in truth, his concern was for Clark. 

Clark put his hands in his back pockets and squinted a little at the brightness of the sun as Lex opened the car door. "Yeah, they can. It'll be okay, Lex. They won't ask unless I'm...you know. Weirder than usual. That takes some effort." He was teasing, yet not. "I could...come over after dinner," he offered quietly.

Lex badly wanted to put his glasses on, but he hesitated, leaning across the doorframe. "It's a bad idea, Clark," he said, and wasn't surprised to see the flash of confusion, quickly masked. "Clark, the only way this...we...are going to work is if...nothing changes. Which doesn't mean staying apart, but it does mean--"

"I know." Clark said, sounding none too happy, but resigned. He gripped the doorframe, arms braced on the opposite side of the metal from Lex's half-folded arms. "And I don't want...this...to be all there is."

Lex knew that, too. "It's not," he promised, hoping he could keep that promise when he reached over to touch Clark's shoulder. "And it won't be, but this..." Lex gave him a cocky grin. "Has its place. Unless you're done with me."

Clark's startled gaze swept over Lex's face until he realized he was being teased. "Yeah, Lex. I want you only for body, your money, and your really cool house."

Easier if it were true. "Good, because I only want you for your body, your farm expertise, and your mother's artichokes."

Clark gave Lex one of those broad, fast smiles that could stop traffic. "Just so we know." 

"I'll find a reason, Clark. Play chess?"

"Uh, no. Not very often."

"Then you can learn," Lex said with a smile and put his sunglasses on. "Meet me at the Beanery on...Tuesday."

Clark looked a little disappointed, but nodded. "Better if I come with friends?" he asked, and Lex felt something a little cold slide inside the warmth he had been feeling. He kept his smile. 

"That would work. Coffee, chess..."

"Friends." Clark said, and he was smiling, too, but there was a seriousness there. He wasn't oblivious to what they were planning or why.

"Yeah." Lex said, and squeezed his shoulder tightly for a moment before sliding into his car. Clark closed the door for him and stepped back, not moving when Lex started the engine and pulled away. 

Lex restrained himself from looking back more than once Clark was still standing in the drive, but he was looking toward the barn, not watching Lex's car.

Lex had stopped smiling the moment he'd gotten behind the tinted glass, and before he'd hit the end of the drive, there was a throbbing back beat coming from the Porsche's excellent speakers. 

There was more than one kind of innocence to be lost, and Lex wasn't entirely sure the innocence he'd taken wasn't worse than Clark's virginity. 

He could have done worse, he told himself. *I* could have done worse.

As with all things, that might well be true and still not be the truth. 

 

~end~

 

11/26/2001


End file.
